


Tongue

by MamaMystique



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Bedelia is a murder queen and I adore her, F/M, murder couple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-10
Updated: 2014-06-10
Packaged: 2018-02-04 02:47:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1763325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MamaMystique/pseuds/MamaMystique
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bedelia proves to Hannibal that she understands him.</p>
<p>One of my Tumblr fics, prompted as: "Can we get a Hannibal/Bedelia fic with your take on the patient they murdered together and how that entire scene went down. Bonus points for macabre flirting over dead bodies."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tongue

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Язык](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4048873) by [Yallen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yallen/pseuds/Yallen)



> Basically I'm posting all my Bedannibal stuff from Tumblr here (finally) - so get ready for some murder couple shenanigans.

Hannibal and Bedelia’s relationship was as far from conventional as any relationship could possibly be. Beyond their patient-psychiatrist interactions, no one could decipher what attraction lay between them; something just seemed to click. They fit together perfectly in many ways, between their musical tastes, fondness for good wine, and passion for understanding the human mind. 

Of course, Hannibal and Bedelia each knew what truly cemented the attraction that formed the base of their relationship. They would tell you (although they would never tell anyone besides each other), that what they shared beyond similar tastes was a similar appreciation for ways they expressed their own art and general outlook on how to handle those they found less than courteous. Hannibal would be the first to admit that Bedelia knew that before he did; and though he would never say it now, let alone think it, he once underestimated her. 

He had been pleased with her so far, their conversations stimulating, Bedelia’s presence cool and electric in the room and in his mind. But when she said that she knew him, that she saw him for what he was, he doubted her very much. No one knew him unless he wanted them to, and she had not spent nearly enough time with him for Hannibal to even entertain revealing his nature. He did not let himself think that she knew the truth and appreciated it, having been disappointed before. Instead, Hannibal found pleasure in trying to envision the look on her face when she truly saw. How terrified and surprised she would be. He smiled as he left her house, an idea forming in his wicked mind. 

Referrals were always tricky. But Hannibal made sure to giftwrap his patient for her, to present him to her in a way that their inevitable collision was off to the right start. He didn’t have to wait for a result. The poor man was obsessed with Bedelia before long, confessing to Hannibal how perfect she would be. 

“Do you think she…” he had asked Hannibal, the remainder of the question hanging on his tongue. 

“Dr. Du Maurier is a very professional woman. I do not think it would be wise to ask.” 

“I could convince her.”

“I’m not sure you could, honestly.”

“Watch me.”

Watch Hannibal did as he and Bedelia’s now shared patient approached her house one night, Hannibal lurking in the shadows. He was close now; he would see her face as the true realization hit her. He would walk in right as it happened, right as she refused their patient’s advances, right as the man then reacted violently, as he always had. She would know then, and only then. 

Hannibal hovered near the door after their patient entered, waiting for the struggle. The air was thick with tension, his own breathing becoming audible as he waited. Finally then, a gasp, and the sound of glass crashing. Indistinct yelling. Bedelia’s cry. Only a matter of seconds now. 

“No, please! I’m sorry!”

Hannibal’s head perked. That wasn’t Bedelia’s voice. Cautiously, Hannibal pressed his ear to the door, listening more closely. He heard ragged breathing, then:

“You’ve been terribly rude to me,” Bedelia’s voice came slithering out from behind the door. “And I’m afraid I cannot tolerate such behavior.”

“You – you-”

“Don’t try and pull it out. You’ll only make it worse.”

Hannibal silently opened the door, peeking his gaze through the crack. They weren’t in the hall; they must be in her living room. 

“You fucking bitch! You fucking psycho bitch!” Their patient snapped, throwing vulgarities as his last defense. There was a pause, and the sound of him spitting. 

Things fell deadly quiet. 

Bedelia strode out of the living room, her back to the front door. She looked the picture of perfection, her hair neatly curled on her shoulder, a black dress draping her shoulders and falling to her knees. It was only the bloody spit on her left cheek that betrayed her elegance. Her heels clicked down the hall as she approached her kitchen. Their patient’s labored breaths filled the silence, and Hannibal eased the door quietly closed as she emerged from the kitchen again. He waited until the sound of her heels was muffled by the carpet of the room, and slipped inside her home. 

“Oh God, oh God-”

“It’s become clear to me that you require a more permanent change in your life.” Hannibal followed Bedelia’s voice, watching her from behind the doorframe. 

Their patient was pinned to her beautiful wooden side table by a pen stuck through his right hand. Shards of glass was deeply embedded in his cheek and his neck, blood spilling in heavy spurts that caused his knees to buckle. In her right hand, Bedelia held a beautiful knife.

“We aren’t making progress. Although I doubt that was Hannibal’s intention when he introduced us.”

“He-”

“Please don’t speak. I know exactly what you wanted, and Hannibal did too. Please nod if I am correct in assuming he sent you after me?”

“I-”

“I did not ask for a verbal response. You will nod or shake your head. Did Hannibal send you?” 

Hannibal couldn’t see their patient’s movements. He was instead entranced by the woman between them, the picture of death and beauty. Shock struck him for the first time in many years, true and utter shock that was followed by a twisted sense of attraction. So this was Doctor Bedelia Du Maurier. 

“Bedelia,” Hannibal whispered as he revealed himself in her doorway. She turned to him slowly, her features sharp with venom. The smell of iron and blood flooded the room, and here the hint of her perfume. The mixture was intoxicating, and Hannibal catalogued it for later. If he could truly have his way, she would wear no other perfume for the rest of her life. 

She watched him as he watched her, a small smile peaking on her cheeks. “So, you have finally come to join us. I am sorry to disappoint you by not dying at the hands of your pet.”

“I am not-”

Bedelia slapped their patient with all her force as the words left his lips, pushing the glass on his cheek in further. Their patient screamed out, a weak sob escaping him. A deep cut appeared on Bedelia’s hand, but she couldn’t have cared less.

“You have not disappointed me,” Hannibal spoke quietly, almost afraid to approach her. She terrified him in that moment, drunk on blood and power and pain. She was gorgeous. 

“Yes. On the contrary, Hannibal, you have disappointed me. Do you really think me deserving of nothing more than this?” Bedelia gestured to the man who was now collapsed at her feet, losing blood fast. “Frankly, I am insulted.”

“I apologize.”

“You will never insult me this way again. Either you come for me yourself, or you come to the realization that I am deserving of your respect.”

Her gaze was dominating, monstrous, dark. She was everything dangerous and alive to him, and he couldn’t stop himself. Three purposefully strides brought him to her small frame, where his strong arms gripped her waist and his lips crashed to hers. She smiled against his frantic motions, coming to sink her teeth in his lower lip. Hannibal stopped as she punctured skin, pulling back as she brought her hands up to grip his. The knife hung heavy in her loose grasp. 

“Have we come to an understanding, then?” Bedelia whispered, pulling away from him.

“We both have our secrets, Doctor.” That was the only affirmation Hannibal could give. 

“Good,” Bedelia stated simply, kneeling down and pulling out their patients tongue with her fingernails. In a swift motion she cut the muscle away. 

Horrific noises escaped their patient as blood bubbled and poured from his mouth. He tried to struggle, his body too limp to muster a fight. Blood dripping down her hands and arms, Bedelia took hold of the still squirming muscle and shoved it viciously back down his throat.

Hannibal often revisited her there inside his mind palace, in that moment. He would enter as her arms were coated with hot, thick blood, and sit to watch her. She would pay him no mind until she was done, and then she would sit astride him and devour him. Sometimes he would become lost in her intensity, and he would show up on her doorstep once he escaped, just to be sure that she was real. She would stroke his cheek as they sat, each harboring secrets about the other, each trusting the other to conceal them. Somehow, they managed not to kill one another, and instead fall into what might have been called love. He never underestimated her again.

He was taking her to the opera as a celebration. Life in Italy was suiting them both well, and he wanted to treat her to something special. 

He watched Bedelia as she prepared herself, a black dress wrapping around her tightly and framing her neck. She looked almost as she did that night, a knowing smile on her lips as she hooked small gold hoops on her ears. 

“Are you ready?” Hannibal asked, moving to stand behind her, his suit impeccably tailored. 

Bedelia dabbed a small drop of the perfume on her neck, letting the smell trigger his memories. “Yes.”

He wrapped her in a kiss, and they descended into the night.


End file.
